


Future Starts Slow

by thereisafire



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Post-Ending E (NieR: Automata)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisafire/pseuds/thereisafire
Summary: 2B and Nines, after everything. Post-Ending E. Flowers, booze, and T-shirts.
Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93





	Future Starts Slow

  
This revival is different from all the others. 

There are no bright eyes beneath a combat visor examining her, no eager voice calling her ma'am till she flat-out orders him to stop. Instead, he’s lying on the bed in their room at the resistance camp, face hidden in the crook of his arm. If she didn't know better, she'd think he’d died again.

"Pod," 2B says, gesturing towards the bed. "Analysis?"

Analysis: Unit 9S' personal data has been completely recovered. All systems are online. No functionality issues detected.

2B gently tugs on his arm. He moans a little, and flops his arm down on the mattress. His pale eyelashes glitter with moisture. His sleeve is wet—not newly wet, but wet in a way that indicates liquid has been seeping into its fabric for an extended period of time. 

She wants to wrap her arms around him, but refrains. He reminds her of a sword screaming with metal fatigue, its blade already crazed with cracks. The slightest wrong move, and he'll be broken beyond repair. 

"Initiate hardware connection."

Proposal: Unit 2B should state her intentions prior to interfacing with Unit 9S.

"I'm going to give him a wake-up call."

Alert: While this support program is also concerned about Unit 9S' well-being, proper calibration of a Scanner model requires—

"There's no use in being _proper_ now. Do it."

Initiating connection.

"Are you there? Can you hear me?"

No response, which is fair enough, considering the circumstances. At least he's letting her in. She half-expected a minefield of traps in his hacking space, but it seems he's too exhausted even to defend himself from her, or he doesn't see the need to. She can't tell which one is preferable. Probably neither.

"Well. Since you can't hear me, there's probably something wrong with your audio. I'm starting your boot sequence now." 

She's familiar enough with how this should go, even if she's on the other end of things this time around. Brightness settings. Sound calibration. Touch detection. Enough persistence to keep trying, even in the face of constant rejection.

After her fifth attempt to check his voice recognition by calling his name and variants on it, he mumbles something that sounds like an 'ugh' and hoists himself upright. His chapped lips move a little, barely stirring the air, and she doesn't need a Scanner's observation skills to know he's asking her _why_. 

All the light in his eyes has vanished. Seeing him like this hurts worse than seeing him dead by her hands again. But they're both still here, salvaged after the end of everything, and hell if she's going to let this stupid damned world take anything else away from her.

"Welcome back, Nines," she says. "I'm here to provide support."

* * *

Jackass's abrupt departure from the resistance has been the talk of the camp for days, particularly among her subordinates ("She was working on the tower investigation report, then she just blew everything up and ran off! I thought I'd be trapped in those boxes forever! Anyway, I really need some help reorganising our storage, so if you could..."). Nines still isn't as communicative as usual, but he's capable enough of pushing boxes around unsupervised, leaving 2B to head into the desert in search of Jackass.

"Pod," 2B says. "While we're here, do you know where to find...no, never mind."

Understood.  
Hypothesis: Unit 2B wishes to give Unit 9S a gift of some sort, to improve his well-being.  
Proposal: Unit 2B should procure flowers for Unit 9S. Flowers were a common gift from one human to another to aid their convalescence. A flower that can be readily found in this area is the desert rose.

2B doesn't bother to clarify the Pod's assumptions, especially since they're mostly correct, but desert roses bring something else to mind—a grateful voice in her ear, a memory almost overwritten by a shrill staticy screech over the Bunker's intercom and everything that came after. "I thought flowers were mainly for females to admire." 

Flowers had many purposes and interpretations in human culture. Something as simple as a single red rose could have many meanings, depending on context.

"And if I were to give more than one flower?"

Analysis: In the present context, devoid of cultural associations, the meaning of that gesture would be up to the recipient.  
However, I believe Unit 9S would not be averse to it.

"Got it."

A few desert-rose-less dunes later, 2B stumbles upon Jackass crouching behind a segment of pipe, taking potshots at machines.

"The Resistance is looking for you," 2B says. "And your underling was trapped in the storage area for days."

"Yeah, well, _I'm_ not looking for the Resistance, and if he couldn't remember how to blow shit up to get out that's his own problem. So you're here to drag me back? Because let me tell you, straight out, I'm done. The chucklefucks at the Resistance don't know what was at the Tower, but I do. I'm pretty sure you know this whole thing's a sack of bullshit too."

Normally, this admission alone would be grounds for execution. They're alone in the desert. No one would object. She's confident she could make the swing before Jackass detonates whatever she's planted beneath both of their feet.

"So,” 2B says. “What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to exterminate every single android asshole behind Project YoRHa, and kill a metric shit-ton of machine lifeforms for good measure. Wanna join? I'll even let you bring your boytoy."

The thought of killing YoRHa's creators is extremely tempting, and she can't deny she's fantasised about it on many an occasion, but leaving Nines unsupervised or dragging him along on a rampage of revenge both don't seem like the best of ideas at the moment, given the events after her death. 2B considers the most concise way to decline, but just then, an idea comes to mind. It seems like a bad idea on the surface, but...the more she thinks about it, the more it makes a ridiculous kind of sense. 

"Not at the moment. I know someone else who might be interested, though."

"Huh. Who?"

"You should already have met her, I think. She goes by A2."

"Oh, the murder hobo," Jackass says, letting out a low whistle. "Sure she's down for explosions, rampages and all that junk? It's gonna be some real no-holds-barred revengeance crap."

2B looks at her Pod.

Analysis: In my time as her support assignment, Unit A2 caused many explosions, even when they were not strictly necessary. She was fixated on the founders of YoRHa meeting violent deaths, and also cursed a significant amount.

Pod 042 whirs in thought.

Hypothesis: After some initial hostility and grumbling, Unit A2 would accept the Asshole Extermination quest.

" _Hell_ yeah," Jackass says. "Thanks for the hookup, I'll keep you posted. And don't step too far to your right, that thing's supposed to be remote detonation only but it gets pretty touchy when sand gets in. Don't say I didn't warn ya."

"You're...welcome. By the way, do you know where I can find desert roses?"

"Saw some in that canyon way over there." She jabs a thumb in the opposite direction of where 2B was heading towards. _Ugh._

2B returns to camp with three desert roses, two lilies, and some nicer-looking ferns that she wrested from a moose's mouth. She wraps them in the black fabric of her combat visor, winds a five-coloured ribbon cable around it all, and places them on Nines' bed. 

Just as she's drifting off to sleep, she hears soft footsteps, followed by the shutter-click of Pod 153's internal camera, and she wakes up to find the bunch of flowers on her bedside table, with an anti-chain-damage chip neatly placed by its side. 

* * *

By the time Nines has finished his reorganisation of the Resistance's extensive storage facilities, 2B knows the coordinates of every flower patch on her mini-map, and the rough locations of the more attractive ferns. Her makeshift forest memorial to 6O is overflowing with handmade bouquets, and she has more chips and more desert roses than she knows what to do with. 

"Pod?" 2B asks. "What did humans do when they had too many flowers?"

When faced with a glut of flowers, humans generally sent the surplus to overseas markets or left them to rot, and subsequently went bankrupt if the glut continued.  
However, disregarding irrelevant data, excess desert roses can be distilled into a liquor popular with androids and even machine lifeforms.

"Liquor, huh..."

She trades her extra chips for all the intact glass bottles the Resistance members can scrounge up, and in the space freed up through Nines’ new inventory management system, she sets up a makeshift still. When the initial batch of liquor is complete, she hands Nines a bottle. He takes a sip.

"This is...uh," he says. "I'm not really sure what you were going for here?"  
  
He passes the bottle over, and 2B takes a sip of her own. It's definitely not the best. In fact, she's fairly certain it's nowhere near good at all.  
  
Nines rolls the liquor around in his mouth like he's trying to analyse its various points of failure. "Could you show me your setup? I could probably help figure out what went wrong. I mean...if you don't mind."

"Not at all," 2B says. "I'm sure you'll be a great help."

Nines' ears turn cherry-blossom-pink. "Really? You think so?"

"You've always been," 2B says, and Nines' ears get even pinker at the compliment. She takes note of that for future reference. 

Their next few batches go wrong too, but with Nines' help they're making new mistakes instead of the same one over and over, so 2B counts that as progress.

"Ugh," he says, wincing as he takes another swig of their latest failure. "It's _still_ bad."

"Give it time," she replies. "It'll get better."

* * *

They're in the forest, heading towards their memorial to their Operators. Nines has found an entire album of human photographs in his latest bout of box-sorting, and wants to set it down at 21O's tree stump before his inventory gets even more cluttered.

Ever since his revival—or since his breakdown, she supposes—it's become Nines' reflex to attack on sight, regardless of who's actually there. He's gradually getting better at avoiding combat with non-hostiles, but 2B keeps a firm grip on his hand, just as a safety measure. 

Halfway to the memorial, they glimpse a new structure in the distance. It's a large tent covered in white fabric, and it's emitting a strange stuttery clacking noise.

2B keeps hold of Nines' hand as they creep towards the extremely suspicious tent, but as they're about to approach it and look inside, a machine strolls out of its entrance. 

"Oh, hello," Pascal—no, the machine that used to be known as 'Pascal'—says to them. "It's nice to see you here! Thank you for the liquor, but I might not be purchasing any more from you in the near future. Far too hazardous, I think."

"What's going on here?" Nines asks, peeking into the tent. "And what are they all doing?"

A few armour-clad machines are standing around a wooden-framed apparatus and sobbing while moving part of its frame up and down. The apparatus seems to be the source of the stuttery clacking sounds they previously heard, and with every stutter-clack, it weaves loose threads into what looks like a sheet of fabric. One of the machines breaks off their duties to let out a wailing sob—while it's mostly incoherent, the words 'Forest King' are clearly audible.

"Ah," ex-Pascal says. "It's a very complicated situation I'm not sure I completely understand. It seems that their king died recently, and while they were trying to figure out what to do about that, a lot of their commanders and fellow comrades got sucked into a mysterious tower nearby and were never seen again? So they were left bereft for a while, I believe."

"That does sound complicated," 2B says.

"Anyway, I was travelling through here and found these few acting quite distressed. I sold them some of your liquor, which helped for a spell, but ultimately, keeping them occupied seems like the healthiest way to help them recover. I've set up this loom for them to work on, and we're planning to sell the fabric to the Resistance or any interested parties once we get the production process settled. We'll probably need to sort out their housing as well, that castle holds far too many bad memories...but anyway, would you like to buy one of our trial batches in the meantime?"

"I guess we will," Nines says. "And, um, I know we've asked this before, but what should we call you? If we're going to be doing business in the future and all."

"Well, I didn't have a name the last time we met, but Anemone over at the Resistance keeps calling me Pascal for some odd reason. I think I'll stick with that for now."

"Sounds good," 2B says. "I can't think of a better name for you."

"Why, thank you! That's very kind of you to say!" Pascal hands them two large rolls of cloth, and refuses to accept their attempts to pay him more as he ushers them out of the tent.

"Should we tell him?" Nines asks. 2B shakes her head. Things will either work out, or they won't. In either case, they have a large quantity of cloth with them, and no idea what to do with it. She wonders if humans ever bought things on impulse.

"What fabric did human T-shirts use?" she asks. 

Nines flicks through the photo album, and stops on a picture of a male and female human wearing black T-shirts with the same picture on them, and tight blue pants with rivets on the pockets. "It looks like some sort of fine-weave cotton."

"Could we make T-shirts with the fabric we have?"

"I guess that’s possible...wait, you want to _make_ them? Like, by ourselves?"

"I want a T-shirt. You probably want a T-shirt. No one around here is making them. We have two rolls of fabric and an abundance of free time."

"It wasn't just the T-shirt, though," Nines says, shuffling his feet. "It was kind of...the whole thing around it, the atmosphere? Humans coming back to Earth, the commercial district full of people, a whole age of peace and everything..."

"The humans are dead. We might as well have T-shirts."

"And, uh," Nines looks even more sheepish than before. "I kind of wanted to pick a T-shirt out for you."

"You can make my T-shirt, then. I'll make yours."

"It's not much choice if I'm just making it for you, you know? I always imagined I'd go to a vendor and pick out a T-shirt with a dumb design, and you'd glare at me for picking out something so terrible, or maybe you'd get embarrassed but wear it anyway..."

"We'll just have to set a trend and popularise T-shirts with designs," 2B says, interrupting him before his hypothetical ramble gets much too detailed for her liking. "Then maybe some competitor will come up with new designs, and you'll get your wish."

"That's a really big 'maybe', but fine, I guess. How do you want to do this?"

"Well," 2B says. "We should probably start by learning how to sew."

* * *

"Okay, so that's one small biped T-shirt for you, with 'existence is meaningless' written on the front, and 'just give up' on the back. Is there any particular fabric colour you'd like?" Nines asks.

The clown machine peers down at both of them. The area around the machine's eyes is painted with river mud, and the motley patches on their clown outfit are all smeared ineffectually with dye, as if they'd tried to wipe all the colours out. "Ah, yes. I'd like it to be as dark as my heart and as shadowed as my soul."

"Standard black it is. And what colour for the text?"

2B, familiar with indecisive clients by now, cuts in. "White or silver. Pick one. Now."

"Silver, I suppose. It can gleam futilely against the dark cruelty of fate."

"We'll need to go to the desert and grab more silver ore for the paint, so it'll take a bit longer than white. If you're fine with that, just put down the deposit and we'll swing back in a couple days." 

The machine nods. "That's acceptable. Oh, if you're heading there anyway, there is one other thing...do you remember the parade of love and friendship I once asked you to help with?"

"What about it?" 

"My former friends are probably dead by now, and I'd like to know what sorry fate their belief in 'love and friendship' led them to. If you find their corpses in the desert or near it, could you let me know how they died? They should be identifiable by the deflated balloons next to them."

After delivering ten 'In Memory of the Forest King' T-shirts to Pascal's new settlement, they make their way through the desert, picking up ores and other useful-looking items as they go. While 9S digs around in search of some artifact or other, 2B glimpses what looks like Jackass in the distance, accompanied by someone with long silver hair. She raises her hand in greeting in case they look her way, but they seem too busy arguing with each other to notice, which is probably just as well.

They pass through ruins and sandstorms, the scanner slowly pinging all the while, and their search eventually leads them to the desert oasis. There's a YoRHa soldier there, still in full uniform, kicking her heels against the ammo crate she's perched on. 

"Hello again!" the soldier chirps. "It's pretty rare to see anyone around here! How are things going at the Bunker? I've gathered some info on the birds around here, but I can never seem to get enough reception to send it back..."

Nines looks at 2B pleadingly. 2B nonchalantly sticks her hands into the pockets of her jeans, and tilts her head at him. 

"Um, I'm not sure if anyone told you this," Nines says carefully. "But you know YoRHa doesn't exist any longer, right? The Bunker got blown up. The whole project's pretty much scrapped right now, actually, so you don't really need to be on duty here. Sorry."

"Oh!" The YoRHa soldier jumps up from her seat on the precariously stacked crates. "You mean it? Really?"

"...yes?"

"I've always wanted to check out where the birds fly to, but I thought if I left there'd be no one to guard this cache...I guess it doesn't matter now, though! I'm finally free!"

2B should probably direct this straggler—no, this potential deserter—to the Resistance camp, or at least some storage outpost where her box-sitting abilities would be best put to use. Instead, she hands the ex-YoRHa soldier her spare flask, a tie-dye T-shirt from an unclaimed order, and two Auto-Heal chips just in case. "Have fun out there."

"You _bet_ I will," the deserter replies, practically clicking her heels together as she runs off. "Goodbye, desert! Birdwatching, here I come!"

"...that was weird," Nines says.

"Agreed." 2B looks up at the sky. It's a bright, blinding blue. They've spent most of today making deliveries, trekking through the scorching desert, and searching for remnants of the very-probably-dead paraders. There's sand on most of her exposed skin, and a pool of clear water is right there. "But now that she's gone, want to take a bath?"

"You...want to bathe?"

2B steps out of her boots, briskly pulls her T-shirt over her head, and starts yanking her jeans down. "It's only practical. Gets the sand off." 

"So you think it'd feel good?" 

"I think it'd be practical," 2B says.

"Admit it, baths are the best," Nines stubbornly insists, making no move to shed his clothes at all. 

2B dips her bare feet in, and then lowers the rest of her body into the deeper part of the oasis. The gritty sand sluices off her skin, as expected. "Less talk, more stripping." 

"Admit it first and I'll join you in there," and 2B knows he's one of the pettiest androids out there, but honestly, enough is enough. "Say it with me, baths feel—"

2B grabs hold of the hem of his bermudas and yanks him in with her, boots and all. He lets out a shrill shriek that she immediately commits to her long-term storage.

"What," he says helplessly, floundering in the pool before finding his footing. "What the _hell_ , 2B, at least warn me first!" He swipes some water away from his face and starts laughing, his eyes bright, and that's when 2B pulls him closer and kisses him on the mouth.

2B's familiar with the many ways to take Nines apart in battle, but this is entirely new—her hands meeting his soft cheeks instead of his unprotected throat, the way Nines tilts his head upwards, winding his arms around her and pressing their lips together like they were purpose-built for that very moment, and the sunbeams piercing the clear water around them feel like they're shooting through her, infusing her with a bright warmth that spreads through her entire body. The world around them falls away as her lips meet Nines' again and again, kissing him as hard as she can to make up for all the lost time, all the half-said words and missed opportunities, and he cradles her against him like she's something infinitely precious and kisses back, every touch of his lips against hers suffusing her with light.

They stay there for what seems like an eternity, the fish gently nipping at them, before the Pods politely warn them about potential water damage if they continue their extended immersion.

"You know," Nines says, wringing his sodden clothing out, "since there's already an effective volt-proof salve, we could probably make a waterproof salve to go along with it if we're going to do this again. The formula can't be that different."

Before putting on her clothes, 2B checks herself for water damage, rolling her shoulders forward and back to test range of motion. Everything seems normal, but she feels lighter, as if she's been freed of a weight she didn't know she'd been carrying. "We already know we have a private room in the resistance camp. Also, it has a bed. We should continue our search for the paraders' corpses now, and save the experimentation for after that."

"Practical as always, huh? That's what I—"

Alert: Large number of machine lifeforms detected in immediate vicinity.

Nines grumbles and gets dressed. "Seriously? Now? I'm not ready to fight anything! My clothes aren't even dry yet!"

2B readies her sword—she hasn't had to kill anything in a long while, but whoever or whatever's interrupting her time with Nines is definitely going to pay dearly.

A Goliath-class tank rumbles towards the oasis, kicking up gouts of gritty sand as it spews balls of hardened light and plumes of smoke into the air. It's accompanied by two linked-spheres, flashing menacingly as they twine around the tank's turret, and the machines perched on top of the tank are all vehemently chanting something that sounds almost like—

_Wait._

"...abandon all hatred! No more fighting! Live to have fun! Share in the happiness! No more fighting! Spread love throughout the world!"

2B reaches out and gingerly pokes one of the balls of light with her sword. It pops, showering both of them with a fizz of multicoloured sparks. 

She glances at Nines, who looks like he's experiencing a major processing error, and waves her outstretched arm at the tank. The linked-spheres blink their lights at her in acknowledgement, and the machines on board wave back enthusiastically, the balloons attached to their collars proudly bobbing up and down with each motion. 

"Hey," she shouts. "Are you from the city? The ones who had the parade?"

The chant halts for a moment, as does the tank. The lead machine leaps down from the tank and slowly waddles over to them.

"Oh! Are you the brave couple that helped to defend our first parade? I didn't expect to run into you two here!" 

"That's us, yes."

"Yes! Indeed! Well, it was such a splendid experience that we just couldn't sit still any longer when we knew the rest of the world awaited our message of love and peace! 2B and 9S, was it?"

Nines is still dumbfounded, so 2B answers for him. "Actually, it's Nines now. Everyone calls him that." 

"Ah! My apologies, Nines! In any case, thank you both for being our parade benefactors! We simply couldn't have accomplished all of this without you—that first success spurred us onwards, and we've even managed to make some new friends since we've started this whole journey!" 

The linked-spheres wriggle their tails enthusiastically at 2B and Nines, their lights strobing through a rainbow of colours, and the tank points its turret into the air, spewing more multicoloured bubbles in what appears to be its version of a hello.

Nines seems to have regained his senses by now, even if he's blinking a bit more than usual. "Your old friend's been wondering about you, actually. The one that didn't come along."

"Oh, of course! We meant to get in touch earlier, but there just isn't any reception past this point!"

"We've heard," 2B says dryly. "What do you want us to tell your friend?"

"Tell them that despite some setbacks, our parade of love and happiness still continues to spread joy to the ends of the earth! I'm sure they're doing valuable work spreading our message in the city, of course, but if they can spare the time, we'd love if they could join us here!"

"Er, we'll see what they say about that invitation. Could we have a balloon or something of yours, though?" Nines asks. "You know, as proof that we talked to you." 

"Of course, of course! Have the whole bunch! I'll just tie them to these floating objects right here!"

Analysis: These balloons are both aesthetically pleasing and suitably festive. Thank you for the gift.

"Do you need any help from us, by the way? Like supplies or other things? It can't be easy, out here in the desert..." Nines starts digging in his satchel.

"No, we simply couldn't accept any charity from you—we owe our parade benefactors too much already!"

"How about free ammunition, then?" 2B gestures to the pile of crates near to the oasis. The YoRHa logo printed on the side is so sun-bleached it's practically invisible. "It's not ours, and seems like no one's using it. Should be compatible enough for your party cannon with some retrofitting. We can help you load it up."

"Oh, that would be fantastic! Truly, the world provides for those with good intentions!"

Nines sighs. "More crates, huh?" 

"Quit complaining and start hauling."

After they're done loading everything onto the tank, the machines insist on "celebrating their parade benefactors" by inviting them on board for a spin. 2B clambers on top of the tank, holding her hand out to Nines, and the machines cheer and spray streamers and confetti on them both. 

"This is _completely_ ridiculous." Nines laughs, ineffectually brushing the confetti out of his hair, and 2B has to agree. It's ridiculous that they're even alive. It's ridiculous that they're both here now after what they both thought was the end of everything, clad in homemade T-shirts, showered in confetti by machines, the desert sun beating down mercilessly on both of them. 

One of the machines begins to play music, a song she's never heard before, and the rest begin to shuffle around in unison, waving their arms in the air or flailing their drills around, and, honestly, if everything is already ridiculous, what's one more thing?

2B motions to Nines, and begins to perform a weaponless version of combat to the music's rhythm—slash, heavy slash, dodge, parry, retreat—and after a little adjustment, Nines joins in, matching her rhythm seamlessly as they mock-fight each other, and even if this isn't what humans traditionally did when they heard music, even if both of them weren't built to use their combat capabilities like this, she can't bring herself to care any longer. It's what _she_ wants to do, what they're both doing together now, and with any luck, it's what they'll keep doing for as long as they can.

Eventually, inevitably, the song comes to an end. She pulls her final strike so it barely grazes Nines' face, Nines' kick connects with a light tap against her shin, and they both face each other, catching their breath. His damp T-shirt clings to his chest, and there's still confetti glinting in his hair, despite his best efforts. His face is flushed with exertion, and she can practically feel his black box pumping as it works overtime. He's an absolute mess. She doesn't think she's ever seen anything more beautiful in her life.

The tank fires another slew of multicoloured bubbles into the sky, and the machine musician takes that as a cue to start playing a second piece. 2B squeezes Nines' hand, ready to continue their dance, and in the fleeting moment before the next song kicks in, as she watches the bubbles lazily spiral upwards, shining in the endless sunlight before they dissolve, it isn't hard to believe that this is the best of all possible worlds.


End file.
